The Breaking Point
by Death's Inevitable Kiss
Summary: Marlene McKinnon had been standing in the background for far too long. She was sick of just being there, of being a wall that everyone could rely on. There was a time when someone out there reached their breaking point. This was that time. MENTIONS RAPE


Marlene McKinnon had been standing in the background for far too long. She was sick of just being there, of being a wall that everyone could rely on. She was tired of people being oblivious to the cracks in her, the lack of support she had. There was a time when someone out there hit their breaking point. Now was that time.

The room was dark, encompassed in shadows. Not even the flickering of the candle's flame could force the darkness to flee. The only noise was that of silence and the deep, anticipating breathing of one Marlene McKinnon.

The blond sat unceremoniously in a chair before the candle, her knees together and ankles apart. She was slightly hunched over, examining the objects in her hands. One was a long, slender stick of wood, the other a sharp shard of silver. A cruel, barely sane smile pulled at her thin, red lips. The thoughts that flickered through her mind were not that of her old self. No, these were far more creative, far more fulfilling.

The front door of the house made an ominous creaking noise, followed by loud, heavy footsteps. The floorboards whined as the owner of the house came closer, scaling the stairs lazily. Marlene smirked. He wasn't expecting…they were _never_ expecting.

Slowly, the door swung open, almost as if unsure. But she knew that that wasn't the case. After all, nobody had ever known what lied ahead of them. It would be foolish to think otherwise.

In, past the threshold, stepped a lean man with raven hair, his pale brown eyes not visible with the lack of light. He stopped before the candle, pointing his wand at it for a second before raising his arm toward the fireplace in the corner.

"_Incendio_," he murmured. A pool of warm light flooded the room. He turned to leave, but was forced to stop when he noticed the woman sat. Her hair was in slight disarray, her blue eyes filled with a dark mirth. He knew this woman.

"Hello, Rosiar," she said, smiling politely, but even he could see the borderline insanity in it.

"McKinnon," the man, Evan Rosiar, said unsteadily, his grip unconsciously tightening on his wand.

"No, don't do that. I'm here as a friend. You remember what good friends we were, don't you?" Marlene cooed, standing up swiftly, placing her pale, bony hand on his.

A shiver shot up Rosiar's spine as her fingers traced over the dark mark on his arm. Her eyes darkened even more, a crazed grin clawing its way up to her thin face. "W-we were never friends," he stuttered, yanking his arm away from her and taking a step back.

"Aw, Evan, you wound me. And I thought we had something special," she snarled, stalking closer to the dark haired man, her grip on the blade she held tightening until it pierced her skin. Crimson blood dripped down its smooth surface, falling in miniscule puddles on the once spotless floor.

Rosiar's eyes examined the lunatic in front of him warily. They trailed down to her hands until he saw what she was holding. He aimed his wand at her, _avada kedavra _ready on his lips, but he was cut short when Marlene beat him too it.

"_Immobulus!__" _

The brown eyed man froze in place. Not having the ability to keep his balance, he fell backwards, landing on the glass coffee table the still lit candle was on. The sweet melodic tune of glass shattering met Marlene's ears, and she smiled. Taking a step towards the stunned man, she tossed her wand on the floor, eliciting a loud, obnoxious clatter of wood on wood.

Kneeling down before Rosiar, she brought the blade up to his throat, pressing it there until she drew blood. "For old time's sake," she whispered, pressing a kiss against his lips, her red lipstick smudging onto him. Standing, she let the knife hang at her side.

"I should make you suffer for what you did to me. I should make you feel every ounce of pain you've caused me. I should just take this knife and cut up every inch of your body and let you bleed out," Marlene spat, glaring down at the immobile lump among the shattered remains of a table.

The blade felt light in her hand, strangely similar to how her wand felt when dueling with her old friend, Lily Evans, in Defense Against the Dark Arts. The flickering light of the fire flickered on the exposed silver of the bloodstained metal; it was hypnotizing, and was the only thing that Rosiar focused on as the cracked shadow of the former Gryffindor lunged forward, every one of her intentions on his demise.

* * *

><p>Wilkes had always thought that his death would be dignified. That he would die in battle against dozens of Aurors, or that he would die of old age with the respect of every pureblooded wizard out there for his dedicated service to the Dark Lord. Not once had he ever expected that the end of his life would be brought upon by his old classmate. Especially <em>that<em> classmate.

He looked up at Marlene McKinnon from his position on the floor, taking in her hair that was matted with red. She looked much thinner than the last time he had seen her, her bones jutting out underneath her skin. She held something in her hand, something he couldn't make out through the rusty color it had.

She was looking at him with the same look that Bellatrix Lestrange had whenever she was talking about the various ways she would torture muggles, and that look had always scared him to the core.

"How ya been, Wilkes?" Marlene murmured, smiling sweetly, but her eyes ruined the good-natured façade. No, this wasn't her being friendly; this was insanity.

"McKinnon," Wilkes said, not moving from the position that the blond had pushed him into. She had stupefied him as soon as he arrived, knocking him down to the floor where his back was pressed against the hard, granular ground.

He had been outside his house, having just apparated in from a meeting with the Dark Lord when the Gryffindor had appeared, catching him by surprise. She was just standing there, waiting.

"Funny, Rosiar said the same thing when I visited him earlier," Marlene smirked, stepping closer to him. "But, why wouldn't you reply the same? You two have always been so close. I mean, you both seemed to have found pleasure in what you did to me, right? You both enjoyed it, didn't you?"

Wilkes was at a loss for words on what to say. If she had visited Rosiar, and, if she had done what he thought she was going to do to him, then that would explain why he had been missing earlier.

"You remember right? It was the night before the Quidditch match that would decide whether Gryffindor or Slytherin got the cup. You knew you would lose, didn't you? So you had to take out the competition," the blond asked, her words getting faster, louder, more hysterical as she spoke. "You got what you wanted. I refused to play the next day, and the Gryffindor team didn't have anybody on reserve, so we were forced to forfeit. The entire school was mad at me, including my friends, _especially _my friends. It wasn't until we graduated that they forgave me, after school ended. So, that's what I'm gonna do; I'm gonna forgive you," Marlene said, ending in a whisper as she leaned over Wilkes, the grip on her knife tightening.

"You crazy bitch," Wilkes spat, trying to back away from the deranged woman in front of him.

"Oh, you have no idea," she laughed before jabbing the knife into his torso, making sure not to pierce his heart.

Wilkes screamed in pain, wanting to recoil but knowing that it would only bring more pain. Marlene laughed again, pulling the knife out and sticking it back in, aiming for the area between his collar bone and shoulder. Another scream ripped through him, this time more agonized, but it only seemed to amuse the blond, egging her on.

It wasn't until the man stopped roaring with pain that she stopped. And she didn't leave until she heard the aurors that the neighbors had owled when they heard Wilkes' cries start apparating in.

* * *

><p>Marlene sat in her house, the place a ruin of what it once was. The drapes were torn, windows shattered, furniture overturned. All of the china she owned were chipped and cracked, practically rubble on the ground that the blond sat on.<p>

She sat in front of the wall, back towards the door, her clothes in tatters. Her skin was grimy, dried blood caked on it, stuck beneath her nails. Her blond hair appeared black with the lack of light, not having been washed after her past night's activities.

Marlene felt lighter, more at piece, but it wasn't enough. No, there was still something left, still some_one _left.

"Mulciber…" she whispered hoarsely, a sadistic smirk appearing on her sallow face.

Filled with the glee that her suffering would soon be over, that she would have her revenge, Marlene grabbed the dagger, her savior, and sliced the palm of her hand open. The scarlet liquid stuck out against her surroundings, a sight she enjoyed.

The blond pressed her bleeding hand against the wall, moving it swiftly across the surface. When she had finally pulled back, she examined her work.

Large, crimson letters read: TO PUNISH WITH IMPUNITY

* * *

><p>.<p>

"Tell me, McKinnon, what makes you think you'll get away with killing me?" Mulicber asked, pointing his wand at the girl before him while he wiped at the cut on his cheek.

"I never said I would," she smiled, holding her knife in one hand and her wand in the other, poised to strike.

"You're insane," he growled, stepping back slightly.

"I'm perfectly sane, love. It's you with the problems," Marlene scoffed, stepping forward.

Her blue eyes were bright with anticipation as she examined him and the room she was in. The mahogany furniture was complimented with light paint tones, along with silk, well, everything. "Tell me, who did you get to design the place?"

Mulciber stayed quiet, eyeing the girl up warily.

"You are too paranoid for your own good, Mulciber," she said, clicking her tongue a few time as she walked closer. "But, I suppose I have to thank your paranoia. It'll make this all the more easier."

"What are you talking about, blood traitor?" he asked, snarling the last two words out.

"Did you know that there are anti-apparation wards around your home?" Marlene asked before she rolled her eyes. "Of course you know that, it's _your _home."

"What's your point?" He took a step back.

"The point, old friend, is that it'll be harder to escape if you can't disapparate."

Mulciber's brown eyes widened as he processed the information. It was so obvious that he had overlooked it while he was thinking over ways to avoid a duel. Though he'd never admit it out loud, Marlene was a much better duelist than he, and the thought of having to fight for his life wasn't very appealing, nor were the outcomes.

"I'm gonna enjoy this," Marlene mused.

* * *

><p>The Order of the Phoenix, established by Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizadry, was a secret society that opposed Voldemort and his Deatheaters. They fought for the innocent and those who could not fight for themselves. Most Ministry Officials were unaware of them, and they liked to keep it that way; the less people who knew, the less likely Voldemort wouldn't find out.<p>

They had numerous meetings, one nearly every night, and, when Marlene had not attended two of those meetings, the Order members began to worry.

"I have some bad news," Frank Longbottom, a charismatic man whom was an Auror and had attended Hogwarts with Marlene, said, addressing the whole of the Order. "Marlene is dead."

A silence descended.

Then, as if planned, a tidal wave of noise filled the Headquarters. There were cries of shock and outrage, wails of pain and sadness, and, for those who hadn't known the blond as well as some, inquiries on her demise.

But, the group that cried, yelled, screamed the loudest, was the one in the back of the room. Five figures stood, huddled together, emotions varying, but their distress all the same.

"She was killed by Mulciber," Frank continued once the room had quiet some. "At least, that's what we believe seeing as her body was found on his estate."

"Where's that Deatheater now?" Sirius Black asked.

"Hiding."

"As he should be, the coward," James Potter growled angrily.

"There's more," Frank said, looking uncomfortable. "We went to her home, and, well, we found this." Out of a pocket in his trench coat, he pulled out a stack of photographs of the inside of Marlene's home and a worn book.

The mass of people seemed to huddle around the pictures, but Lily Potter and Alice Longbottom didn't. They picked up the familiar book, a diary, _Marlene's_ diary. A page was bookmarked, and the two girls flipped to it.

_June 12__th__, 1976—I haven't told anybody; no, I __can't__ tell anybody. I don't know what they'd think of me. Would I be worthless for not putting up a fight? Would I be pathetic for just taking it and not doing anything about it? They threatened to kill me if I told someone, but does a book count?_

_I don't really care. I just need to get it out, to admit that it happened. _

_A month ago, I was raped by Rosiar, Wilkes, and Mulciber…_

_~Marlene_


End file.
